Disclaimer: Just adding this to add to my word count. Not mine.

Rating: M

Pairing: Sephiroth/Genesis

Warnings: Adult themes and situations. Language, violence, non-graphic rape, and mild incest if you squint.

AN: I know I haven't updated in the last month, my excuse: this 5 week unit class for school, was Drawing 101. People, I can't draw. I write, I don't draw. So, anyway, its been taking me days to finish my assignments whereas other classmates it takes only a few hours. I hate it. I hate drawing. So, yeah, that's where I've been this last month...doing homework.

AN 2: Nephilim Rising, girl, you are the most awesomest person. Thank you for sacrificing sleep to get this betaed.

AN3: I was smoking Neph's pot when I wrote this chapter. Ok, that's a lie, Neph doesn't smoke pot; I was smoking my own pot, so if the chapter seems off, just let me know.

&%$ CBV $%&

Long ago, she doesn't remember when, she gained awareness. She had been an it then, barely formed, and so small she was invisible. Back then, when recollection comes only as hazy white noise, her existence had been singular in purpose. She had no ambition, no directive, no drive. Her one agenda: spread and multiply.

She lacked a sense of self.

Then clarity came. Fuzzy colors took form, becoming shapes, and later objects with dimensions and names. That time when she was alive just to be alive lost meaning as she expanded and expounded into new dimensions. She was no longer a flat, existing only on one plane. She was growing: in size – becoming visible- and gaining in intelligence. She was knowing and learning at the same time.

The creature, virus, monster, goddess now known as Jenova (though she's had many names before) simply stopped being an it and became she.

Though her purpose was still the same, an overwhelming desire to infect and spread to the masses, she now had a weapon she never possessed before, the ability to plan how to achieve her goal. She could now formulate her attack strategy.

In that long ago time, a time even Gaia wishes to forget, she found the easiest way to spread herself, to not fall back into that nothingness of singular purpose, and it was through the warm, soft forms of a race who called themselves The Cetra. They were active; they kept her from falling dormant.

She spread herself quickly among them, subsuming their knowledge as well as their shape, discarding the parts of them she didn't need – which quite often was their feeble minds. Once she had spread to her second, then her third host, she was living in all of them, directing their actions. Many a mind shattered with her disease, but that was of no concern. On a purely academic level, she understood that these lovely (she had learned what atheistic was) weak, little creatures saw her as a "bad thing," but their morality contradicted her purpose, therefore was of no value.

The Cetra, having two arms, two legs, a head, walked upright and were smooth and shapely; they lost a number of their ranks, not only to madness but also to a metamorphoses. Their bodies became an abomination to Cetra, human, (who though cousins to the Cetra, especially in form, kept their distance when they learned about a sickness killing off the Cetra) and beast alike. They became grotesque, monstrous beasts, both feral and ferocious.

However, the transformation was not strictly due to her. The race that talked to the planet lived in lands rich with Life Stream energy, and that energy effected them on a cellular level, as she herself did. She and the Life Stream Energy did not mix. The outcome was those mutations. She lived inside them too.

With less than a handful of their race left, the Cetra trapped the core part of her – the part that went from it to she. Inside a crystal of hardened Life Stream, its emerald facets shimmering in every direction, the molten color seeping into and changing her eyes, they bond her form. Her milky skin, silver hair and fragile frame became translucent, ephemeral and utterly alien in the green glow.

Before they came to imprison her, to rip her out of her home where the vessel to reach the planet still rested, she corrupted a large portion of Life Stream, and used it to hang the Meteor back in the sky.

Later, she would call it crashing to the earth, and the wound it would create would draw survivors together, allowing her, to once again, multiply herself, pass on her contagion.

The tainted Life Stream congealed instantly, and spit out a large black orb which she would need when she was free of her prison. But before she had time to retrieve it, the green came, sealing her within.

At first she had known fear. The fear of not fulfilling her purpose, but those fears were alleviated when she realized that although most of the Cetra had died, killing parts of her as well, some of those that had become monsters, survived. She remained conscious and aware through them. Even now, the massive beast Gorgon – a bull like creature, taller at it's shoulder than two men stacked together, and hide as tough and as dark as black diamond – lay in his layer listening, to the planet. Relaying the information without knowing it.

It was the humans (they have been absent for the last two millenia, now haven't they) who retrieved her. Them and their white coats. Them and their strange equipment, and complex ideas. Them and their endless questions.

She heard them as soon as they liberated her. She could see what they were thinking. She cared little that they put her in a tube to study her. She cared even less when they started to cut and dissect her. She was alive and fully away in every part of her main body, so when they took a piece of her, they took all of her.

Oh, how she loved them, these humans, these distant relatives of the Cetra. She loved them in the way a sentient virus loves. She understood the concept, and could mimic the emotion quiet well. They willingly wanted to help fulfill her agenda. They were useful, and like all viruses who choose a favorite nesting ground, Jenova picked humans.

Then those darling, wonderful beings – they injected themselves with her, unknowing that she was conscious, aware, and in charge of every single cell in her being. They had unwittingly become hosts, and thus she adored them.

These humans, they were stronger, more durable than the Cetra had been. Their genetics adopted her more readily, and though they became tainted with madness, as do all creatures she touches, they didn't easily succumb to negative genetic mutations. Many host's genes would filter out the destructive side effects, annihilating them completely, while retaining the her more beneficial qualities.

All but the insanity! That was the Jenova virus; that was the impurity she corrupted with. Even the strongest willed fell to the chaos in their minds, Only their madness was less pronounced but more profound. It was a quiet whispering constantly breathing a chilled wind against the ear. It was the vivid visions rending and tearing against against the invisible, ethereal barrier of the psyche, causing doubt in reality.

They had taken her arms, and her legs. They had taken her wing, black as the void of space, and soothing to the touch. She couldn't remember where she had gotten the knowledge to create an appendage used for flight since the Cetra didn't have one, but it felt 'right'.

They had gouged out her eyes – she replaced one with a portion of raw magic because she liked to watch them as they poked and prodded her – and cut open her skull. Then they removed her heart and her womb. She was rendered fractured, but remained whole.

She didn't mind them dissecting her; she played dead and listened to their theories. She retained her sensory awareness throughout the processes. She felt it acutely when their needles punctured her skin, and their knifes sawed into bone. She had never been forcibly divided before, and the sensation of pain so intense was not before experienced, so she studied it, committed it to cellular memory, and added a new weapon to her arsenal of spreading insanity.

Among the scientist, there were two, who like herself, were singular in purpose. They were already subscribing to their own forms of madness, letting it shape and control their destiny. These two, the male and female, she loved the most.

The male she cherished, for he would be tender, showing a sort of reverence, when he examined her. He talked to her and truly wanted to learn about her. He recognized power in her, and sought to expand her; his agenda mirrored hers flawlessly. And when he had taken his gleaming, silver scalpel, and with precision that was an art style, extracted her wing, it was unadulterated devotion.

'Professor Hojo', the others called him and he identified with. He had yet to internalize her, but she didn't care, because he worshiped her and readily complied with instructions she would slip into his mind via telepathy.

The female, Lucrecia, she held sacred, and sanctified. The woman was lost to a sickness of her own, obsessed with work and laden with guilt. She was the perfect incubation vessel for Jenova. But then Lucrecia, glory upon her name, in a secret procedure, known only to Hojo and herself, replaced her own womb with Jenova's. The very nature of the Jenova cells allowed for Lucrecia's cells to mutate, and genetically accept the womb as part of her body, thus making it fully functional.

It was another first for her as she had never been born before. The pregnant Cetra had lost their offspring as soon as they were infected, and the abominations were sterile. She was not only to be born once, but three times. However, wanting to try an experiment of her own, to see if these 'birthed' humans would gain her power even if her cells were asleep, she allowed the part of her going with her non-favored scientists, to go dormant.

Her own findings surprised her, and she whispered the results to Hojo. All three of the fetuses were developing madness as their tiny brains grew. They would never perceive a normal world around them. And their bodies had undergone a metamorphoses on a genetic level. They were now physically capable of surpassing the peak human performance, ascending to heights of godlike ability. And where as adding Mako – condensed Life Stream Energy – to the Cetra had caused them to deteriorate into monstrosity's, adding Mako to human's enhanced them. It also acted as an adhesive for her cells to bond with normal cells.

There had been no need for manipulating Hojo's silence; ambition held his tongue. He would not tell Professor Hollander, Professor Hewley, Professor Gast or even Lucrecia, the secrets she imparted on him – her high priest. (Jenova's will be done!) It was best if they remained ignorant of her true nature, and what was happening to her sons, otherwise they may try to impede her actions.

After deciding her dormant cells had bonded with her offspring on a subatomic layer, she was free to turn her primary focus on her active cells, this son would be her perfect host. Between her and Hojo,

using Lucrecia's body, they were creating a flawless carrier; one that embodied her essence. And he would be able to traverse the cosmos, extending her to other words,

Lucrecia began to have visions of the future, and being frightful that the vision would come to pass, and basing her decisions solely on a morality, she tried to harm the fetus, deeming him a monster. Hojo had been able to stop her, and once Sephiroth had been born, Jenova encouraged her sacred one to seek shelter far away where she could hide her broken mind until she had use of her again. Lucrecia consigned.

Jenova had monitored the growths of all her sons into maturity, and though her treasured Hojo injected her into already mature humans, none excelled as her three sons. True, the two who possessed her dormant cells were only slightly less powerful than the one who possessed the active cells, they were none the less precious and valuable.

She had been idle, but not dormant, when a barrier ripped, and a hole was created. No, that wasn't it, that hadn't been what happened. Creation happened in the blink of an eye, and she was suddenly multiplied a million times.

Sephiroth, her son, had matured and enhanced ten-fold in a split second, and her disease was thrust throughout the Life Stream. A part of her divine purpose was fulfilled.

&%$ CBV $%$

There were absolutely no alterations to the room that Sephiroth had considered home for the first eight years of his life. The neat arrangement of the room, clean and free from dust, stood as a silent testament to Professor Hojo's compulsion for organization and sterilization. The twin sized bed, now two inches to short for the SOLDIER 2nd Class, witnessed no signs of the previous night's use, having been made upon his waking. Two nightstands, both made of polished cherry-wood, held identical lamps of the same bland, straight-pole design, covered with off-white shades to keep the yellow light from casting too harsh a glare. The vanity, carved from the same wood as the nightstands, housed a brass framed mirror a few inches above it, in front of which Sephiroth now sat, brushing out his tangled silver hair. And while the room's décor had a cozy, inviting effect, the faint smell of abrasive, chemical disinfectants could be detected.

His hand moved the brush automatically through the untangling process, placing each platinum strand in its rightful position, while his head was cluttered with congestion. Up until having this moment of solitude in a familiar, comforting place, Sephiroth had only been going through the motions of everyday routine, while he struggled with having two personalities inside. However, now that he was undisturbed (he was confident Hojo would make sure of it) he had time to question whether or not there really was an older "him" sharing his body. For the last week, he had just sort of accepted "it", and had even gone so far to as to take "its" advice, but now that he was in down time, "it" was a growing mystery.

True that "it" had known things that he didn't know about, like who his mother really was, and that Hojo was his father, and even how best to handle Genesis, but "it" also claimed he was part alien, and that he traveled through time to come back and possess his body. The situation was confusing and sounded like pure fabrication – like something he had made up to give answers to his numerous questions.

Being a person of logic and rational, there was only one conclusion he came to that made sense; his mind was fractured. With all the experimental drugs that Hojo had tested on him, coupled with the fact that he had started killing at such a young age, he had developed a second personality. Usually personalities didn't interact with each other, but his had always been a special existence, so why couldn't his derangement's be special as well? It would explain why the second voice sounded so much like his own, and why he was aware of everything the other did, and not suffer states of fugue so commonly linked to persons with dissociative identity disorder. It would also account for how the other him couldn't use the vast array of power's he claimed to have.

The only problem with this theory was that it didn't explain how he knew Hojo was his father. However, that could be chalked up to him having read a classified document that stated so, and him not wanting it to be true, he altogether dismissed it from his psyche. As for the case of his mother, or mother's – as in plural – a concoction his other self made up to keep his mind at ease. A lie as half-cocked as it sounded, rooted in science fiction, dismissible at best, outright fictitious at worst.

That left the question as to why Hojo agreed with him and didn't sound surprised at what his other self was saying. There was an answer for that as well. The professor knew that one day Sephiroth would split, so he had been preparing for it. The scientist had told the Sephiroth alter-ego exactly what he wanted to know to see how the alter-ego would respond to the information, and what effects it would have on both personalities.

Sephiroth sighed, 'Always an experiment.'

'A very good assumption,' the older part of Sephiroth chimed in, 'and I would have drawn the same conclusion myself if I were your age, and had me live inside me. However, it matters not as to whether I am a separate personality, the fact is that I am a part of you, and I am staying. You will grow into me. Now, why don't we contemplate something else, like the fact that Hojo is our father, and what he admitted last night is monumental.'

Lying aside the brush once his hair was deemed perfect, he let his eyes slip shut. There was no use arguing with himself; the other part of him was right. The older Sephiroth didn't seem to be leaving any time soon, and he was curious as to how overnight he suddenly had a father.

For as long as he could remember, Sephiroth had only thought of Hojo as his caretaker – the person who made sure he had his basic requirements met – but last night, everything had changed. The scientist didn't once deny that he was Sephiroth's biological parent, and had even been open and honest with him. The silver-haired teen did not doubt Hojo's sincerity, because while Hojo may be many things, a liar he was not; that and Sephiroth could tell when people were lying to him. Now that things were different and the scientist had been frank about his past, Sephiroth waited for some great rush of connection, a feeling of bonding to ones parent, to overtake him. That feeling never came.

Sephiroth still felt sense of loyalty which had always been there, and a new sense of gratitude because of the honesty, and there was even an emotion that he couldn't put his finger on, but a feeling that a son should have towards his father didn't exist. There was no profound inkling of kinship or...love. Hojo was still Hojo, though he was no longer that crazy scientist locked away in the labs. And maybe therein lied the difference. Sephiroth didn't have an emotional shift toward towards the man, but a paradigm shift. He didn't view his father as someone to fear anymore, but as someone who held answers he didn't have.

Accepting this new understanding, and feeling a little too compliant with his other half, the young SOLDIER rose from the table and swiftly changed from the hospital gown into his Second Class uniform. He was now intent on finding Hojo so their conversation could continue, and then he wanted to speak to Lazard about getting a mission in or around Junon. It had only been a week, but he was starting to miss his boyfriend.

He stopped when his first boot was laced, leaving the other foot bare. 'Did you just think of Genesis as our boyfriend?'

'That's what he is, isn't he?' He asked with a hint of sarcasm. He was becoming annoyed that the other part of himself was continually interrupting his thought patterns.

'He is our lover. Boyfriend sounds adolescent and immature.'

'I would like to remind you that we are only fifteen years old, so when it comes to matters and the terminology of relationships, I believe we are justified to think in terms of how a teenager would think, especially since you are not all that wise when it comes to relationships anyway.' Sephiroth strapped on his other boot, 'Besides, he can't be our lover yet, considering we have yet to make love to him.'

'A situation I intend to rectify as soon as possible.'

'Sex?' Sephiroth's younger self was thrust into turmoil over his emotions yet again, 'We are going to have sex with Genesis?' he was overcome with anxiety, yet talking to Lazard about a mission to Junon had suddenly become top priority.

The older Sephiroth, who had settled in a quiet recess of his mind to contemplate how best to use his father to his fullest advantage, chuckled at the new emotions experienced by his younger self. It was almost incomprehensible to think he really had been that young and excitable at one time.

&%$ CBV $%&

'2.2 billion pounds' Genesis rattled off mentally, keeping pace with Doughnut ( he preferred it to Cadet Green) not even breaking a sweat, while the fat kid was red-faced and had big tears of water soaking his face. He was panting profusely, while a thick, clear trail of snot oozed down his nose.

'2.2 billion pounds' is what a cloud weighs; Doughnut was probably close to that,' he thought. Only Genesis Rhapsodos would compare something so visually stimulating to the obese boy running at his side. Genesis knew it was mean spirited, lately he had been in a foul mood, and his whole squad knew it.

"Your running like the fat kid, Doughnut. Why is that?" Irritation colored Genesis' yelled words.

"Because I'm fat, Sir," the boy spat out a white glob of saliva.

"That's right, because you are fat." He shouted, "What are you gonna do about it, Doughnut?"

"I'm going to loose weight, Sir."

"Cadet Anderson," Genesis called to the rest of the squad slightly ahead of them, "Can Doughnut loose weight?"

A brunette, a boy around eighteen, who was average in almost all ways, answered back, "Sir yes, Sir."

"And why is that, Cadet Mitchell?" Genesis directed his attention to the teen who had asserted himself as the squares second in command.

"Sir, because you said so, Sir," Mitchell returned, his voice strong and assured.

"And that boys, is the way to kiss your superiors ass." The SOLDIER chuckled, and his troops chuckled with him, even Doughnut 'hee-honked' once.

They made it to the climbing wall in the outdoors training field, and his troops started assembling their climbing gear.

"Doughnut, I don't want us to have to pull your ass up that wall this time," Genesis shouted again, "this time you're on your own."

For as much as Genesis rode the boy's ass (not literally) he genuinely liked the kid. Of all the recruits, Cadet Bobby Green gave his best effort, and tried the hardest. The SOLDIER admired his determination. And since sticking to the diet he had been put on – yes, he was allowed to eat – Doughnut had dropped a few pounds and his skin was clearing up.

"Get your asses up that wall, soldiers," he screamed after waiting a few minutes. Genesis was pushing them harder than he would have any other group. Since challenging T.J. to the games, he'd been ruthless about getting his squad in shape. "We don't have all day."

T.J. had been the main source of his irritation. SOLIDER Collins had taken up stalking him, and honestly, the redhead was becoming frightened. Twice this week he had woken up to find T.J. standing in his doorway; Genesis wasn't sure if the older boy meant to harm him or not. He had this look on his face – dark, menacing and confused – that had scared him. He reminded the redhead of a man wrestling with a demon, where he was the demon. He had observed that same look on his father's face when he was battling his addiction; his father had lost the fight. However, T.J. had gone back to his room without doing more than standing, so Genesis had his security code changed, and the mid-night visits stopped. In fact, Genesis wasn't sure that he didn't dream the events – his dreams had been so intense lately that they were starting to merge with reality.

However, the blond SOLDIER had also started doing other things that worried him. T.J. would actively seek out his location, and pay him short visits. He would subtly threaten Genesis with a hushed phrase or blatantly mock him in front of his squad, hoping to embarrass and humiliate him.

It was getting worse by the day. This morning, T.J. had found him in the locker room, caught him off-guard, twisted his arm behind his back, and slammed him, chest first, into a locker. For a moment, he had been frozen with fear. Did T.J have a knife? Had he finally come to kill him?

A small voice, hallow and empty, chimed in, 'Is it anymore than a murderer deserves?' He ignored this voice; it had been wanting to destroy him since Blakemore.

A hot breath tickled his cheek and T.J.'s lips were against his ear: Goddess help him but his body reacted with a searing heat as well as bone-numbing cold.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm watching you, my pretty little girl," The older teen hissed.

Genesis spun around swinging; he connected with air. T.J. was already retreating for the door. He had blushed hotly, narrowing his eyes, boring a whole into the other SOLDIER's exiting back. Refusing to allow his subordinates to see the shame of a wounded ego he suffered, he held his head high, lips tightening to a horizontal crease dividing his face, and he dared any one of them to utter a single comment on what had happened.

"Genesis," the purr cut through the strained grunts of the squad struggling on the wall.

For a moment, he felt his stomach plunge. He knew it was T.J., certain that his thoughts had conjured him. He didn't want to be afraid of his nemeses, but T.J. seemed unpredictable, and unpredictability was something to be frightened of – a fact he had learned growing up with a drug addicted, deviant father.

Genesis could honestly say that he dearly loved his father. The man was good to him, spent time with him, instructed his education, not only academically but taught him life skills as well; he was not left ignorant to the world. But when Joshton Rhapsodos got his 'fix', he became stupid, and unpredictable.

"Genesis," his father had pounded on his bedroom door after a night 'out.

The two year old incident was still fresh in his mind, the paint that coated the picture had not finished drying.

Reluctantly, Genesis had granted his father access to his room. The surprise wasn't that Father was high, he was used to how his father behaved after he shot the yellow liquid into his veins. No, the surprise was Joshton Rhapsodos had brought a guest with him; a guest of the female variety that wasn't his mother.

Genesis believed his father's intentions were pure, but the adage of intentions, roads and Hell sprang to mind.

"Genesis, this is Brook," Mr. Rhapsodos introduced the blond girl now sitting on his bed. She couldn't have been more than a few years older than Genesis.

The redhead gave the scantly clothed girl a once over and instantly felt revulsion. She was a whore, plain enough, and Genesis didn't like where this was headed.

"Brook, why don't you take your clothes off, so my son can see you naked." There was a wicked gleam in the older man's eyes.

"I'm sorry Mister Rhapsodos, but you never said I'd be fucken a kid," the prostitute protested, and rose to leave.

"Brook...darling...angel...sweetheart," Mayor Rhapsodos' tone, laced with his exotic drug, became patronizing and dangerous, "I never told you to fuck him, he enunciated the word 'fuck' in a manner that belittled her street slang, and emphasized her lack of education. "Besides my pet, for what I'm paying you, you will fuck a chocobo if I tell you to."

At least this whore tried to have some dignity, Genesis noted, as she, having realized how insulted she had been did stand up. She fired off, her accent thick and common of the lower class, "You can keep your damn money, Mayor. I ain't fucken no chocobos, and I ain't fucken no kids." She stormed to the door.

What happened next became an array of violent colors in Genesis' young mind. Red for the slip dress the blond wore that was brutally torn from her body. Red also for the blood that seeped from her nose and lips when his fathers heavy fist connected with her face. Violet, a left of hue from the midnight sky, for the shade the room was bathed in when the girl kicked over his lamp, shattering the bulb to pieces. And finally yellow, a harsh, ugly yellow, a yellow so alien it overshadowed the soft white glow of the dump-apple trees, represented the light of a full, hateful moon. The light spilled through his window at just the right angle for him to witness the horrific event.

Genesis watched the brutal rape, and did nothing to stop it. Genesis watched until his father spent himself, and most of the drug wore off. And then, he helped his father carry the young, battered girl to the car. He rode with his father to deposit Brook in some run down, back alley in the seedier part of town (Mr. Rhapsodos threw a handful of gil notes on her naked form before they left).

The rest of the night, Genesis, lay on his bed – the same bed that was now filthy with atrocity – and cradled his father in his arms, as if he were the adult comforting a weeping child.

His stomach was twisted in painful knots – his dinner, eaten hours ago, wanted to come back up – but still he held his father. The older man's sobs were pitiful and terrifying, adding to Genesis confusion, but he kept his arms securely around his father's waist, and after a while, he wasn't sure who was clinging to who. He didn't cry; he couldn't. This was one of those moment when reality shattered into pure chaos and all he could do was stare a the fractured pieces.

His eyes trained on his pillow, because he dared not look elsewhere. A dark red blotch stained the pristine white. Her blood.

"Mother, you wont tell your mother," Genesis was shaken by the shoulders out of his numbness.

It took a long time for him to meet his father's glaze, and when he did, he saw something wild and crazed in Joshton Rhapsodos' muddy brown iris' . Madness from the drugs...maybe?

"I wont," Genesis replied, sounding much more clam than a kid his age should.

And he wouldn't. Nothing on Gaia or in Minerva's realm could make him break his mother's heart. Certainly not this vile, repulsive sin, in which he shared. He would not pollute her untarnished goodness with a tale of such wickedness.

Then his father was kissing him, over and over again, wet, tear-soaked lips rained down kisses on all part of his face, even touching his lips a few times, lingering just a little too long.

They were kisses of gratitude. Genesis returned them with a need of his own; the need to feel safe and secure again.

In his unconditional love for his father, Genesis justified his father's actions. Brook – he would never forget her – deserved it. If she had only done as Father asked. It was her fault Father was in the condition he was in.

By the time the sun split the firmament from the oceans, he believed his own lie.

A piece of Genesis' soul died that night. A part of him was torn apart in a fit of violence, sent shrieking to the bowls of the Gray Waists; a innocent, pure, good part.

T.J. seemed like he was that kind of unpredictable.

Slowly, as if buying time to learn how to will the speaker of his name away, he turned his head, fully expecting to come face to face with his enemy.

A deluge of relief showered him. Genesis' posture stiffened, a smile danced at the corners of his mouth, though it was denied permission to form, and his hand went to his forehead in salute.

"SOLDIER 2nd Class, Sephiroth, Sir," it was difficult to keep his voice professional, especially since he was overcome with the sudden urge to throw his arms around his boyfriend's neck, and kiss him until he couldn't see straight, but he managed.

"At ease, Genesis," Sephiroth dismissed with formalities, though they were greatly appreciated. He stepped in closer, so that he and Genesis were standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder. That way, if either moved in the slightest way, they would 'accidentally' brush against the other.

"What are you doing here, Seph?" The redhead made sure he moved slightly, needing to feel Sephiroth – if only briefly.

"I am on a mission," came the cold, sterile reply.

"Oh," Genesis sounded disappointed. His auburn brows furrowed, and something akin to a pout, shaped his mouth.

A smirk formed on Sephiroth's lips; he truly loved teasing him and the effect he had on his young lover. "And I came to visit you."

"Oh," the redheaded SOLDIER brightened. He smiled and didn't try to hide it. "I'm glad you came."

"I am as well. Though getting Lazard to get me a mission here was a pain. However, next time, I guarantee he will think twice about taking his time in getting me a mission I request. "

"Why? What did you do, Sephiroth?"

"Not much, I merely pestered him."

"How?" Sephiroth was usually so formal; picturing him pestering anyone, had Genesis laughing even before his companion started his story.

"By going into his office every day after lunch, and reading each and every cadet file to him, then asking for his opinion on each one. By the duties mandated in his official title, he is required to give an honest, unbiased opinion when a SOLDIER brings a cadet to his attention. I just happened to bring them all to his attention. When I left this morning, he was so behind in paperwork, that he locked his office and took his work home for the day."

Genesis face dropped into his hand and he laughed. "I bet he loves you right now."

"Probably not, but it doesn't matter. I missed you and wanted to visit."

"I missed you too, Seph."

Before they became overly sentimental, which made the silver SOLDIER physically ill, he shifted topics. Pointing up at the wall, he innocently asked, "Is that your squad?"

Sighing, Genesis nodded, "Yeah. I got stuck with a litter of runts."

"I see."

"I've been working on them, trying to train them as soldiers, but...Seph, they're losers, and I don't think any of them will stick after this month is over."

"Do not doubt your own abilities, Gen. If anyone can shape these cadets into SOLDIERs, its you. I have faith in you." Sephiroth knew that was the right thing to say.

A twinkle sparked in the redhead's eyes, he could feel it. To have his idol give him such praise, sent his heart aflutter, his cheeks blushed, and swelled his pride. "You really think so?"

"I do." Sephiroth agreed in his overtly calm demeanor.

Nodding, all threads of self doubt cut, the Third Class SOLDIER yelled up the wall, faith in himself restored, "Ebert! What are you doing up there, masturbating? Shit, you've fallen behind Doughnut, and he's the fat kid. Doughnut! Keep moving, your doing fine. Hell, you're jiggling faster than Ebert is climbing. For Goddess-fuck-sakes, if you were being fired at, the whole lot of you would be dead." He barked out a few more 'encouragements,' mostly showing off to his superior, then leaned in toward Sephiroth.

"You step into character very well, Genesis."

"Well, admittedly, I don't have that look of I-will-kill-you-if-you-mess-up, that you have. So I improvise."

"Genesis, will you have sex with me?"

On the entire flight to Junon, Sephiroth had struggled with how to ask that question, and the older, wiser him wasn't stepping in to help. He had finally concluded that the best strategy to use was misdirection. He would slip the question in to a normal topic of conversation, thereby catching his target unawares, giving him the advantage. It was also to his benefit that he was on home field. He knew Junon as well as he knew Midgar.

Genesis had been about to say something, when Sephiroth's question reached his ears. A small noise escaped his lips in a rush of air. He was then quiet for a long time.

He didn't know how to answer that. The butterflies in his stomach awakened. Of course he was curious about sex, and did want to do it with Sephiroth, but this felt wrong. It wasn't done like this. His knowledge of sex may be limited, but he was pretty sure you didn't ask someone first, like setting up a date. There was a lot of kissing and rubbing and it progressed from there.

A little voice suddenly clicked in his head and reminded him that it was Sephiroth, and if he really did love him, he'd better start getting used to the unconventional.

Relaxing a bit, gathering his courage, he whispered, "Yes, Sephiroth, I will have sex with you."

Feeling as if he'd just won a great victory, Sephiroth released the breath he'd been subconsciously since asking the question. He had never once figured into his battle plan that Genesis might say no. But when his lover had gone silent, suddenly that 'no' became a real possibility. The first stinging claws of embarrassment needled at his chest.

'What if Genesis does say "no"...how to I react then? Do I retreat without saying another word, passing off my shame as total nonchalance? Do I try to make an apology? Is he upset with me? Have I done something wrong?'

The "yes" ceased his inner monologue, and an emotion that he was becoming familiar with when around Genesis engulfed him: he felt happy.

"I'll visit you in your quarters when I return."

Sex was not to come that night.

&%$ CBV $%&

Sephiroth smoothed out his trench coat, before knocking on the door of an apartment on residential level 8. He finally brought his hand to the barrier, announcing his presence.

He was dreading this mission, though he'd never undertaken one of its kind before. He'd heard other talk about it, and they say its the single hardest mission to ever be on. However, he knew he wasn't like the others; he had the mental fortitude not to crack.

With the patience of death (ha-ha real funny analogy) he waited for someone to answer.

"Yes?" a petite brunet, her hair in thick, tight ringlets framing her face, answered the door. The woman was somewhere in her early thirties, dark-skinned and exotic dress – somewhere from the southern Mideel area, he ventured. There was a boy child of about three on her hip.

Sephiroth nodded his head, "Are you Mrs. Giordano?"

He needn't have to go any further. With his as widely recognized as it was, the woman only had to put two and two together to figure out what Shin-Ra was doing here. Dominic, her oldest son, had left home just six months ago to join the military. He was only fifteen.

Sephiroth watched as she grabbed her door frame for support. He was worried she might drop her child.

"Ma'am," he began, his voice lacking emotion, "I am regretful to inform you, that in the line of duty, your son, Dominic Omar Giordano was killed serving his country. On behalf of Shin-Ra Electric Company, and myself, you have our deepest condolences." He had memorized the speech by heart while in the elevator on his way to this level. "I am proud to say..."

A scream tore through the afternoon heat; the woman's scream, and Sephiroth was extending his arms. She and the child were falling backwards. He caught her and carried her into her quarters. He laid her on a dingy, ripped couch, and dislodged the boy from her side.

She had started babbling, her sobs heavy and pitiful, "Bring my boy back. Too young. Didn't want him to go. Please, God, bring him back."

Sephiroth stayed with her until she had regained a semblance of control over herself. He wasn't sure why he stayed; he had no words of comfort. Maybe he realized the toddler couldn't be left alone with his mother in her current condition, or maybe...

Sitting in an armchair that was sister to the couch, and in the same sorry state, he thought of Lucrecia. Did she cry for him before starting to hate him? Did she shed a single tear when she left him to Hojo? Had she thought about him since? When his birthdays came, did she ever try to imagine what it would have been like if she had stayed? What he would have been like?

He shouldn't care, but he did. In this woman's sobs, he heard the echo lost possibility. it was a cold, hollow sound, like ice cracking on a frozen lake. He also heard his own grief. Oh, he had Mother, but sometimes, just sometimes, he wished he had a human mother, (he was part human, after all).

The reason for him wanting one didn't matter, he was selfish, and right now, he wanted one.

Sephiroth left without a word once Mrs. Giordano sobs had turned to sniffles. He had left a military stamped letter of condolences and a flag on her coffee table, and walked out the door.

Later that night, tucked into Genesis' bed, wrapped in his arms – the only place he felt warm and secure right now – Sephiroth asked in a voice way too old for him, "Genesis, do you think she wept?"

"Do I think who wept, Seph?" Genesis was twirling a silky strand of silver between his fingers.

"My mother. Do you think she wept when she found out I died?"